It was just a dream then. It seemed impossible that so callow a team could win
a Grand Slam so soon, and so it proved.

It was just a dream then. It seemed impossible that so callow a team could win a Grand Slam so soon, and so it proved. In 2003 the England team that won the Grand Slam team had 628 caps between them. Before Saturday this lot had only 314.

You don’t win Grand Slams with kids, as Alan Hansen might or might not have said.

Just as when England arrived at Croke Park four years ago for a fixture of rather different significance, they were absolutely smashed. They were physically hammered at every turn.

The atmosphere was suffocatingly intense, and England simply could not cope. But what an atmosphere, and what a stadium.

The old Lansdowne Road has scrubbed up rather well. It desperately needed modernising and the Aviva Stadium has sprung up splendidly around those old foundations. It looks rather oddly shaped at one end, but that is to allow light into nearby houses.

On three sides it has four tiers and the view from the top last night was magnificent, except, of course, if you were supporting England.

There had been a lot of talk beforehand. Maybe too much talk. All that reminiscing about 2003 and Martin Johnson’s refusal to move before the kick-off.

Well, there were to be no muddied feet for Ireland’s president, Mary McAleese, yesterday. Not onaccount of England anyway. She did actually have to stray from her red carpet briefly when reaching a couple of Ireland replacements, but that was hardly a diplomatic incident to begin proceedings.

Instead there was a symbolic gesture from Ireland No 8 Jamie Heaslip. It is the modern way for players to wear tracksuit tops while singing their respective anthems.

For everyone bar Heaslip that is. Just before the first of Ireland’s anthems he tore his off. He stood there proudly in his green shirt with muscles bulging. It appeared a statement of huge physical intent.

And within minutes we saw that was not mere bluff. Ireland simply thundered into their tackles, not as individuals, but in gangs, holding Englishmen up and often grappling possession from them.

Only a few minutes were on the clock when Ireland had a scrummage in their 22. Their scrum was considered beforehand as something of a weakness.

They drove England backwards and were awarded a penalty. The roar was deafening, as loud as any all evening. Another statement.

“The crowd got into the game early,” said Martin Johnson. Too right they did.

By contrast, the silence accorded to goal-kickers is legendary in Ireland, and so the odd cheer of “Come on, England” when Jonathan Sexton lined up for his first kick was greeted with the sort of looks reserved for chatting at a funeral. They soon shut up.

Mind you, it would have been nice if the stadium PA announcer knew his etiquette, too. He piped up with “Substitution for England: Simon Shaw for... ” just as Toby Flood stood at the start of his run-up to his first kick.

Of course, he missed but even God (Jonny Wilkinson, that is) missed later. England brought on their old guard just to save furtherembarrassment. That was a sad admission.

Ireland had saved their best performance of the championship for the last. So there was frustration at what might have been.

They could have been going for a Grand Slam (France could have been beaten) and probably should have been going for a Triple Crown (but for a particularly unobservant Scottish touch judge against Wales).

However, victory over England provides a comforting balm for any team. Paul O’Connell and Eoin Reddan leaving the fray early, arm in arm, with beaming smiles told the story.

As did the thundering, beetle-browed face of Johnson on the big screen justbefore the final whistle. The crowd, quite naturally, booed raucously.

It was a humbling day for Johnson. Only five people have achieved a Grand Slam as player and coach: Wales’ John Dawes, England’s Clive Woodward and the Frenchmen Jean-Claude Skrela, Jacques Fouroux and Marc Lièvremont.

Johnson’s time might come, but not yet. Not with this bunch of tyros. They were boys in a man’s world.